


ask me anything

by tnevmucric



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: Boys In Love, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Late Night Conversations, M/M, POV Second Person, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 07:18:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17658437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnevmucric/pseuds/tnevmucric
Summary: do you believe you're missing out? that everything good is happening somewhere else?





	ask me anything

You like to think, much like a pair of unused earrings, that you never listen to everything.

The waterfront is quiet and empty but he insists he's never been before. There's a dreadful tone to the weather, something like oncoming misery which is to be expected in days like these, but does nothing to help the anxiety swarming in your stomach. The sky might cry, and you hope you get back to the dorms before ten. You need to work on your history paper.

The two of you sit in a way that if one of you were to move, the other would topple over. Back to back at the top of the steps, the feeling of his protruding spine against yours shouldn't be comforting. It is.

"What's on your mind?", he asks; true to his character at least, Ryoji Mochizuki doesn't beat around the bush. His voice more or less dances into the air and latches onto whatever wind will take it— for reasons you don't understand, that wind always leads to you.

You can't particularly find it in yourself to answer right away, but he seems to already know that. In order to be honest, you feel you have to hurtle yourself over endless skyscrapers of lethargy and headaches. He waits for you, though, and the words slowly climb out.

"I've enjoyed spending time with you."

"You have?"

You stare at your hands. His brain must work like a teleprompter or dice; quick and to the point, he doesn't waste more time than he needs to.

"Yes", you reply.

Ryoji laughs and your elbows bump together. You can smell his hair gel and you're sure that the further he leans back, the further it melds messily into your own hair. You mind, but you decide not to bring it up.

"That makes me glad", he says through a chuckle, "Truly, it does. But there's something else."

He turns his head, now a haunting profile in your periphery with a close smile and sharp teeth. You wonder what that may mean for you.

"Oh?"

"Yes." He turns and settles back into his former position (if anything, closer to you) and you watch the shadow of his gesturing hand. "How about you tell me what's on your mind in as little words as possible."

"Ryoji-"

"Only if you want to", he presses on, "See, that's what trust is about. Kind of like how we're sitting. We both trust each other to not pull away and let the other fall. I trust you."

He reminds you of the chaotic mess that was your first few weeks in the area. You are trusted, but why? Nothing you've done has proven your worth for such a precious gift. You glance back at him.

"You first."

It's like he expected it, because he agrees without fault and begins to wander his gaze, crossing his outstretched legs and humming a non-existent tune. "Okay", he replies after not even thirty seconds, "Guiding light."

It lingers in the wind and carries to the water fountain, becoming lost in the lazy streams.

"What does that mean?", you ask, and he looks back at you with a warmth you've begun to familiarise yourself with, albeit through his touchy nature.

"It's someone who you admire, someone who has had an important influence on you."

You force yourself to look at your hands again and although hard it would be, the easier route seems to be avoiding acknowledging anything at all. Pretending you can't hear anything until it's important— _selective hearing._ You can convince yourself it's safer that way, even if you don't fully believe it.

"Places of worship remind me to have a deep gratitude towards the world", he abruptly tells you, "one I don't quite understand. Your mother was a Christian, did you say?"

"Yes", you agree vaguely. The change in topic has rattled you. "My father met her in America."

"I see, and you?"

You choose to not answer. He doesn't mind, and instead you watch the shadow of his hand again.

"Do you notice the beauty in it?", he asks. "The sense of community is as loving as it is powerful, in fact the two are incredibly dependent on each other to survive. To spread love, there must be connections. To create connections, there must be love. To be so _devout_ to something— to mercy and to graciousness— it is a wonder of humanity that I am in awe of every moment. I find it wonderful."

"Do you believe?"

"In God?", he questions and you nod. "I don't know. I haven't thought about it."

"It seems like you have."

"It does, doesn't it?", he sends you a small look over the shoulder. "Are you ready to share your thoughts?"

There's a silence where you can't remember why you're even here, why you decided to risk it all and come. Your fingers skim across your shoulders in a nervous twitch and Ryoji seems to notice.

"You know, in modernity the act of confession has turned into a cathartic conversation rather than some kind of abolishing list. God's mercy is unlimited and unyielding. You can speak from a place of comfort because there is no judgement. If you want to confess something, I don't mind. I'll be quiet if you want."

You're not religious, a part of you feels it needs to clarify. You're just weak and want something to listen and help when no one will listen or help you. Ryoji, whether to stable himself or invite you, leans his hand back towards you. His ring reminds you of something from your dreams, but they are so far detached in your memory that you don't care. He drums his fingers on the step.

"May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in his mercy. Just imagine a curtain sliding across— it's cutting you off from the rest of the world. Right now, it's only you, your thoughts and God."

In a move expository of your weak nature, you reach back and fold your hand over his. You try not to squeeze it too hard, no matter how hard it is to own up to your own voice, and you begin to feel sick.

You eventually hear your words over the water.

"I have thoughts of someone."

"We're just on a first name basis", you continue. "He's everywhere I go, everywhere I end up... time I've wasted I suddenly want to spend with him and I don't care. I'm afraid I won't care until it doesn't matter anymore. He knows the me I wish I could see and he has faith— _faith_ in me that I don't fully understand."

"And do you have faith?", Ryoji questions. You feel your face fill with heat and your legs ache to inch up to your chest and create the perfect cove for you to hide in.

"No", you confess. "I suppose this is all my excuse to—... to _whine_. I please him no matter how little I try and I don't know if what I'm doing is right. I'm confused."

You realise feel better after speaking your mind and you suppose it's because you've never tried to. You realise, much to your own unnerve, that while Ryoji trusts you— you trust him too.

"It's more a sin to reject the pure love of another than it is to indulge in it. You've fallen in love", Ryoji speaks barely above a whisper, "love is God's gift. What actually worries you, Minato?"

Your heart hides in your throat.

"That since he has reminded me of my own will to live, of who I was, he will drop me just as easily."

A cold chill empties itself onto the stairs and it takes you a moment to realise that Ryoji is the one holding onto your hand tightly.

"If I turned to hug you", he starts, "would that be appropriate? Would you feel uncomfortable?"

"No."

You tense your back when he peels away and your hand feels empty and detatched. You watch as he kneels over your legs and vainly, you feel self-conscious when he lifts your face.

"You've been crying", he points out. You shrug, trying to focus on something other than the coolness of his ring against your cheek or his pooling scarf in your lap. You find you want to curl your legs up and pull away completely but something undoubtedly weak and tired wants to collapse forwards, to let him break your fall.

"It's been a long day."

The hug almost feels maternal, but it is far from unpleasant. He tucks your head under his chin and doesn't let you move, even when your leg begins to cramp. His plainly starched shirt becomes wrinkled between your fingers and he tangles your hair: it comforts you.

"It's okay", he assures you. "This is okay."

When he kisses you, it feels like a quiet death. Like ice cubes down your shirt and a knife against your throat. The guilt is eating you alive but he's eating you out; scooping you clean of your skeleton and leaving nothing left but a rotting carcass and a taste— a taste like sweet, raspberry licorice. You feel that the deeper you sink into him, the further that death chases you.

"Look at you", Ryoji whispers. "Minato. You try so hard to give everyone what they ask for— how could anyone ever hurt you?" Your noses bump and he smiles; softly, this time, like there is still space in the night for shared words and unforgettable things. "I'll never forget how beautiful you look."

"Ryoji-"

"Hey, promise me something." His charm is back tenfold but it feels more natural than his school façade. "Don't worry about tomorrow or after tomorrow. Tomorrow can worry about itself. Just focus on tonight."

You reply, and he laughs. The sound is like the shift in fabric you hear during the Midnight Hour and your ears dash to catch up with it.

"I like us when we're together", Ryoji admits. "It's so new. I feel like I'm floating in the most peculiar way, do you feel that? I like the way you smile at me, too. You have a small dimple in your cheek and if I was selfish, I'd ask you to save it for me."

"Are you?"

When he grins, his eyes sparkle. "Yes."

Your guilt decides to hide in your ribcage for now, and time garners in your shoes. He is heavy and warm and present in your hands and you don't mind listening to him whisper for the rest of the night. You don't mind him tagging along for well-wasted time.

"What do you think about when you're all alone?", you ask.

"You", he answers simply.

You think if he asked you, where he has ever made a difference in you, you'd take his hand and trace the inside of your wrist. You'd follow the steps up to your throat. You'd coat two of his fingers on your lips and let his hand slip between your thighs. There'd be a touch on the ear to remember why you'll always listen to him.

 _I don't want to be afraid of this anymore_ , you desperately want to say. _I know you won't drop me._

Curfew comes too quickly and he walks you back to the dorms with a spring in his step and hands that spin you in circles. You have never felt so alive.


End file.
